When I walked Birdie into kindergarten the other day, I noticed his friend Evan sobbing with his head down in his arms. The teacher's assistant asked him why he was crying and he sniffled, "I miss my mommy."
"Ay, everyone misses their mommy. I miss my mommy too. My son, he misses me. But the mommies can't stay with you all the time since they have to go to work. Valerie's mommy is going to work. Birdie's mommy is going to work. Shane's mommy is going to work," she explained in her gruff voice.
I stared at her for a second. She was not really helping to stop Evan from crying, but she was telling him the truth. There is nothing wrong with telling the truth, even if it is not the kindest response. Evan cried on.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
3 Ironies
1. I get disappointed that people do not read this blog. Why bother writing if no one is reading? Yet I worry about concealing my true identity; I don't want people in my real life to connect me with my virtual life. Go figure.
2. I am so busy all day, yet so much remains undone. I am up early washing and feeding kids, making sure clothes are ready for school. I bring home much paperwork which I slog through when I should be sleeping. At the end of the day, I am tired. And I remember I forgot to file the income taxes. For 2005. Again.
3. You only get one chance to be a good parent. Yet you get that same chance over and over every day. Then suddenly the kids are big, and you hope they are not helpless, homeless, heartless, hopeless, due to your missed chances.
2. I am so busy all day, yet so much remains undone. I am up early washing and feeding kids, making sure clothes are ready for school. I bring home much paperwork which I slog through when I should be sleeping. At the end of the day, I am tired. And I remember I forgot to file the income taxes. For 2005. Again.
3. You only get one chance to be a good parent. Yet you get that same chance over and over every day. Then suddenly the kids are big, and you hope they are not helpless, homeless, heartless, hopeless, due to your missed chances.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Touchy Feely
"I have the perfect gown we tailored just for you," the nurse practitioner said today. "It is a Vera Wang and you are going to look fabulous in it." She pulled out the standard hospital gown and stroked the threadbare cotton as I chuckled. It felt good to laugh. The condition I need to have checked out does not seem serious, but I still felt anxious.
Gertie was practicing her empathy skills, I guess. She took my medical history, which is mostly fine, then began to examine my breasts. She said, "you are feeling very worried but you have come to the right place. The doctor is so good, and she will take care of you."
Later on, she commented, "You're sweet." I was startled and responded, "I am?" How does she know? Then, when the exam was over, she HUGGED me. I am not too touchy feely, but the hug just seemed human and caring, and to be just what I needed then. I said, "thanks," sincerely.
I am switching to this clinic, too. They made my day.
Gertie was practicing her empathy skills, I guess. She took my medical history, which is mostly fine, then began to examine my breasts. She said, "you are feeling very worried but you have come to the right place. The doctor is so good, and she will take care of you."
Later on, she commented, "You're sweet." I was startled and responded, "I am?" How does she know? Then, when the exam was over, she HUGGED me. I am not too touchy feely, but the hug just seemed human and caring, and to be just what I needed then. I said, "thanks," sincerely.
I am switching to this clinic, too. They made my day.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Cat 43
I came home recently to find that my little cat Sassquatch had had some kind of medical event in my absence. She could barely walk, was stumbling to her water dish and then falling headfirst into the water. In bright light, her pupils were still widely dilated. Something had happened in her brain, a stroke or seizure, and she had gone blind overnight.
It was painful to watch her falling, off balance, holding her head at an odd angle. I thought of what a good pet she has been for the past fourteen years since she attached herself to me. She had been one of a bunch of strays, and she would always come to me mewing to get picked up. Since she had huge paws with seven toes on each one, the bored kids in the neighborhood pretended she was possessed (by the devil), called her Damian, and would throw her into a water-filled ditch. But she survived, living on bugs she caught in DH’s greenhouse. DH started giving her a little food and eventually took her in. Stunted from her kittenhood, she still is tiny, weighing only five pounds. She eats only a little and consequently creates only slight litterbox cleanup. She is really clear about who her people are, doesn’t like the kids or strangers, but clings to me and DH like Velcro. I realized when I saw her crash into a door how she has been my best friend for all these years, always listening, never asking for anything but to cuddle, barely even taking up any space at all.
We rushed Sassquatch off to the pet E.R. The veterinarians tested her thyroid, liver, blood pressure, and other body functions, and shined light into her dilated pupils. The diagnosis was severe: she had bleeding in the brain, a heart murmur, an inoperable growth inside her ear, and blood pressure that was through the roof. The vet said that sometimes elderly cats balance numerous medical failings, holding it together until one thing gives way, and then all the other conditions cascade and the balancing act is over. Isn’t that true of everyone? In nature, the sick cats appear strong so the don’t get eaten or killed by enemies. Nevertheless the vets were cautiously optimistic and said the blood pressure medication might really help. I tried not to flinch at the bill when we left. After all—sniff, sniff—you can’t really put a price on a relationship like ours.
She has been stable for a few months. She has her blood pressure monitored monthly, the tiny cuff wrapped around her pencil-thin tail. But then she just had another episode. I found her with her head wobbling like a bobble headed toy, falling over at every step. We went back to the animal hospital, and sat for a while watching a video about state-of-the-art prosthetic devices for maimed animals as well as an interview with a man who invented self-propelling wheelchairs for dogs missing two limbs. I wonder about hospice care, about life support.
Sassquatch’s blood pressure is as high as ever, but the vet added another blood-pressure medication to try to keep it down. The vet didn’t carry that medication, so we drove to a pharmacy to fill the prescription, which luckily was available in generic. But hey what is a few hundred dollars between friends?
It was painful to watch her falling, off balance, holding her head at an odd angle. I thought of what a good pet she has been for the past fourteen years since she attached herself to me. She had been one of a bunch of strays, and she would always come to me mewing to get picked up. Since she had huge paws with seven toes on each one, the bored kids in the neighborhood pretended she was possessed (by the devil), called her Damian, and would throw her into a water-filled ditch. But she survived, living on bugs she caught in DH’s greenhouse. DH started giving her a little food and eventually took her in. Stunted from her kittenhood, she still is tiny, weighing only five pounds. She eats only a little and consequently creates only slight litterbox cleanup. She is really clear about who her people are, doesn’t like the kids or strangers, but clings to me and DH like Velcro. I realized when I saw her crash into a door how she has been my best friend for all these years, always listening, never asking for anything but to cuddle, barely even taking up any space at all.
We rushed Sassquatch off to the pet E.R. The veterinarians tested her thyroid, liver, blood pressure, and other body functions, and shined light into her dilated pupils. The diagnosis was severe: she had bleeding in the brain, a heart murmur, an inoperable growth inside her ear, and blood pressure that was through the roof. The vet said that sometimes elderly cats balance numerous medical failings, holding it together until one thing gives way, and then all the other conditions cascade and the balancing act is over. Isn’t that true of everyone? In nature, the sick cats appear strong so the don’t get eaten or killed by enemies. Nevertheless the vets were cautiously optimistic and said the blood pressure medication might really help. I tried not to flinch at the bill when we left. After all—sniff, sniff—you can’t really put a price on a relationship like ours.
She has been stable for a few months. She has her blood pressure monitored monthly, the tiny cuff wrapped around her pencil-thin tail. But then she just had another episode. I found her with her head wobbling like a bobble headed toy, falling over at every step. We went back to the animal hospital, and sat for a while watching a video about state-of-the-art prosthetic devices for maimed animals as well as an interview with a man who invented self-propelling wheelchairs for dogs missing two limbs. I wonder about hospice care, about life support.
Sassquatch’s blood pressure is as high as ever, but the vet added another blood-pressure medication to try to keep it down. The vet didn’t carry that medication, so we drove to a pharmacy to fill the prescription, which luckily was available in generic. But hey what is a few hundred dollars between friends?
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Wonderful World of Birdie
The things my kindergartener says are so cute; they just kill me. I wish I could stop time permanently so he could be the five-year-old in my life forever: all blue jeans, chapped lips, and cowlicks. Everyone needs a five year old in her life!
He found some photos of our decrepit old cat Sassquatch and put them together: "It's Sassy's baby book!"
He is a neatnik who has arranged his shelves perfectly and who MAKES UP HIS BED when it is mussed. Bed-making is unheard of behavior in our household. If I leave a book of item of clothing in his room, about three seconds later he will screech, "Mooom! What is this! Why did you mess up my room?" OK, so this one is cute to think about but annoying on a 24-hour a day basis.
Swinging, he wonders, "What is the opposite of a tree?" Good question. I figure the true answer is the negative space behind where a tree stands, and I launch into an explanation of negative space, and he laughs and says I am wrong. "The opposite is a seed!" Well, why not? Birdicus is all trick questions.
"The ants are having a parade!" Birdie is entranced by minutiae. I look in the dirt and see he is right! The ants are marching in time wearing little matching uniforms, twirling batons, and puffing on tubas.
He is so excited about the class field trip to the real mailboxes to mail a Valentine. When we pass the mailboxes he bubbles over: "There it is! That is where I mailed a letter!" Ah yes and the Valentine was addressed to me and decorated with innumerable hearts.
He found some photos of our decrepit old cat Sassquatch and put them together: "It's Sassy's baby book!"
He is a neatnik who has arranged his shelves perfectly and who MAKES UP HIS BED when it is mussed. Bed-making is unheard of behavior in our household. If I leave a book of item of clothing in his room, about three seconds later he will screech, "Mooom! What is this! Why did you mess up my room?" OK, so this one is cute to think about but annoying on a 24-hour a day basis.
Swinging, he wonders, "What is the opposite of a tree?" Good question. I figure the true answer is the negative space behind where a tree stands, and I launch into an explanation of negative space, and he laughs and says I am wrong. "The opposite is a seed!" Well, why not? Birdicus is all trick questions.
"The ants are having a parade!" Birdie is entranced by minutiae. I look in the dirt and see he is right! The ants are marching in time wearing little matching uniforms, twirling batons, and puffing on tubas.
He is so excited about the class field trip to the real mailboxes to mail a Valentine. When we pass the mailboxes he bubbles over: "There it is! That is where I mailed a letter!" Ah yes and the Valentine was addressed to me and decorated with innumerable hearts.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Eight pounds of fat
I have lost 8 pounds since I started my exercise/eating plan 5 weeks ago. This bodes well. I think of an 8 pound roast beef, pretty hefty. Getting the weight off is hard, and keeping it off is harder still. A lot of it comes down to changing habits permanently, and having the discipline to keep up with the program every day. As I have said before, this is not even about looking hot at 44, but it is about being healthy or healthier as I trudge steadily into the middle-age demographic. My pants fit a little looser, which is heartening.
Yesterday I went for a long walk at dusk. My trainer has recommended brisk walking instead of jogging, which is fine with me. I have a heart monitor to keep track of my heart rate, though I usually don't bother when I am just walking. My optimal heart rate for burning fat is only 106-120 bpm, not that strenuous, and I think I can keep that rate of exertion up on my own fairly easily.
Going to workouts is a time thief though! It takes a couple hours to make it to the gym, do the workout, shower. I could save time if I worked out at home, but my motivation is always greater when I leave the house. The time commitment is worth it right now. I don't like working out, but at least I am getting some results.
See y'all in Skinnytown!
Yesterday I went for a long walk at dusk. My trainer has recommended brisk walking instead of jogging, which is fine with me. I have a heart monitor to keep track of my heart rate, though I usually don't bother when I am just walking. My optimal heart rate for burning fat is only 106-120 bpm, not that strenuous, and I think I can keep that rate of exertion up on my own fairly easily.
Going to workouts is a time thief though! It takes a couple hours to make it to the gym, do the workout, shower. I could save time if I worked out at home, but my motivation is always greater when I leave the house. The time commitment is worth it right now. I don't like working out, but at least I am getting some results.
See y'all in Skinnytown!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Happy birthday to me, me, me
My birthday this year is all about ME. I am too old to wait around for the parties that aren't festive enough, and the piles of wrapped gifts I don't really want or need. After the childhood bereft of gifts--except for the cat puzzle-- toys, or parties, I can make my own parties the way I want them and find my own gifts. DH never gets the hints, has not presented me with a gift in years, so it is up to me to buy my own gift, wrap it, and then be pleasantly surprised to have received exactly what I wished for! This year I decided to go all out for me, me, me.
First I went shopping. Rather than waste my hard-earned money on lil' ol' me, I used the gift card DH's parents sent us for Christmas. I found a cool puzzle, well, the family can use it but it was mostly for me. It is a one-piece puzzle, so no pieces will be lost. Just what I need; we have nearly completed too many hundreds-pieced puzzles, only to find one or two of the pieces have gone permanently missing. This is a true gift for the family that can't keep track of all the puzzle pieces, a mazelike puzzle, all cut from one piece of fabric-covered rubber, so you can take it anywhere and not worry about lost pieces. I bought the 12 year old-and-up version, and it was challenging for me to fit all the intricate cuts all together, but Birdie, who is five, did all right. A fun birthday gift, and just what I wanted!
Then I planned the meals and took Dylan to the store. MMMM, salmon and cheesecake, the foods only I like or will eat in my family. It is MY birthday and the guys will have to fend for themselves. (Don't worry, this is the one weekly free day I have on my eating plan). Normally I would end up purchasing stuff the boys like. Dylan gravitated toward a coconut cake, but I explained, this year I get to choose my own birthday cake, just like he does on his birthday.
So Birdie ended up w a fast food happy meal, and guess what? The toy was an outdated holiday gift pack which contained gift cards, AND a coupon that said "good for one breakfast in bed." It took little effort to convice Birdie to fill out the coupon to Mom, and then we planned out what the breakfast would be (smoked salmon). This morning soon after I woke up, I was surrounded by plates Birdie had gathered and put foods on: a plate with an orange, one with a tomato, one with toast, and one with a package of smoked salmon. His proud smile was a bonus. He carefully carried a knife separately, since he knows he is too young to use the knife.
The only conflict, then, was that Dylan slept in, and when he found out I had already cashed in my breakfast in bed coupon, he cried because he wanted to help with the meal too. I was able to reassure him: "Don't worry kiddo, there is always lunch!"
First I went shopping. Rather than waste my hard-earned money on lil' ol' me, I used the gift card DH's parents sent us for Christmas. I found a cool puzzle, well, the family can use it but it was mostly for me. It is a one-piece puzzle, so no pieces will be lost. Just what I need; we have nearly completed too many hundreds-pieced puzzles, only to find one or two of the pieces have gone permanently missing. This is a true gift for the family that can't keep track of all the puzzle pieces, a mazelike puzzle, all cut from one piece of fabric-covered rubber, so you can take it anywhere and not worry about lost pieces. I bought the 12 year old-and-up version, and it was challenging for me to fit all the intricate cuts all together, but Birdie, who is five, did all right. A fun birthday gift, and just what I wanted!
Then I planned the meals and took Dylan to the store. MMMM, salmon and cheesecake, the foods only I like or will eat in my family. It is MY birthday and the guys will have to fend for themselves. (Don't worry, this is the one weekly free day I have on my eating plan). Normally I would end up purchasing stuff the boys like. Dylan gravitated toward a coconut cake, but I explained, this year I get to choose my own birthday cake, just like he does on his birthday.
So Birdie ended up w a fast food happy meal, and guess what? The toy was an outdated holiday gift pack which contained gift cards, AND a coupon that said "good for one breakfast in bed." It took little effort to convice Birdie to fill out the coupon to Mom, and then we planned out what the breakfast would be (smoked salmon). This morning soon after I woke up, I was surrounded by plates Birdie had gathered and put foods on: a plate with an orange, one with a tomato, one with toast, and one with a package of smoked salmon. His proud smile was a bonus. He carefully carried a knife separately, since he knows he is too young to use the knife.
The only conflict, then, was that Dylan slept in, and when he found out I had already cashed in my breakfast in bed coupon, he cried because he wanted to help with the meal too. I was able to reassure him: "Don't worry kiddo, there is always lunch!"
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